


all-staff meeting

by skeilig



Series: Reddie PWPs [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (lite), Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Working from Home, Zoom calls, because ain't that just life at this point, quarantine is the backdrop not the focus, the focus is Eddie being a slut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27054841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeilig/pseuds/skeilig
Summary: “I’m impressed,” Richie says, squeezing him to draw out another little whimper and jerk of his hips forward. “You seemed very composed.”“Well, it’s not like I become a mindless drone just because my dick is hard,” Eddie bites out, sort of hilariously defensive about it.“You don’t? Coulda fooled me.”Or, Eddie’s working from home and wants to try something.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Reddie PWPs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116113
Comments: 31
Kudos: 429





	all-staff meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaboomslang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaboomslang/gifts).



> joe, this is your fault! I hope you’re happy!

After a few months of working from home, most everyone at Eddie’s office was in the habit of muting their mics and turning off their cameras while on Zoom. It seemed a little alienating, in Richie’s opinion—most of his own meetings were one-on-one or with smaller groups so he hadn’t progressed to that point yet—but the benefit was that Eddie could do better things while he was stuck on the weekly all-staff meeting. It always sounded pretty mind-numbing, sometimes dragging on for nearly two hours, and apart from the quick update that he was required to provide—toward the beginning of the allotted time—Eddie didn’t really have to input anything. 

At first, Eddie used this extra time wisely, completing work in another tab or bringing his laptop to the kitchen so he could wash dishes or make lunch while semi-listening to his coworkers drone on. Then as the weeks passed, he started to use the time less productively, mostly just scrolling twitter. It was one of those days that Richie, while passing Eddie where he was set up at the kitchen table, bent to kiss the crown of his head. Richie caught sight of his screen—the minimized Zoom window in the upper left-hand corner, and his twitter timeline taking up the rest of the screen—and paused, leaning over Eddie and looping his arms around his chest.

“I’m working,” Eddie muttered, frowning at the screen. He’d stopped his scroll on a tweet from an epidemiologist—he’d been religiously following a lot of experts in that field, of course—hit like, and kept scrolling. 

“Yeah, looks like you’re working really hard,” Richie said, chuckling. He kissed Eddie’s temple and moved his lips down over the shell of his ear. “You deserve a break, don’t you think?” 

Eddie shivered and shrugged him off. “I’m on a call,” he said. 

“But you’re muted, right? Camera’s off.” Richie kissed his neck and Eddie leaned into it. 

“No, we can’t–” Eddie said, laughing a little. “It’s almost over anyway and then I have to– We can’t.” 

“Okay.” Richie dropped it and kept going into the kitchen to grab lunch. 

Eddie, on the other hand, seemed to spend the rest of the afternoon stewing on that little exchange. Because shortly before five—he’d been knocking off earlier and earlier as the months dragged by—Eddie found Richie in the living room, where he was sprawled on the couch with his laptop on his lap, plucked the computer from his hands, folded it and set it aside on the coffee table ( _gently_ ) and then (not so gently) jumped onto Richie’s lap. 

“Hey,” Richie said, muffled into his mouth as Eddie kissed him. “I could’ve been doing something really important.” 

“This’ll be quick,” Eddie said, and it was.

In minutes, Eddie came, gasping, over Richie’s chest and stomach—he was still in his t-shirt—and collapsed against Richie’s shoulder to catch his breath. 

Richie, still holding Eddie’s spent cock in one hand and rubbing his back with his other, was really painfully turned on—getting jumped by Eddie in the middle of the afternoon is a blessing he’s been experiencing more frequently of late but never grows totally accustomed to—but more than a little confused. 

“What was that about?” Richie asked, laughing gently. “Was your meeting with Sacramento that good?” 

“It was what you said at lunch,” Eddie said, and he started to wriggle free of Richie’s arms to slide down onto the floor in front of the couch. He elbowed Richie’s legs apart and waited for Richie to take the hint and slide his pants down his thighs. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking me while I was in a meeting.” 

“Oh– _oh_ ,” Richie said, while Eddie swallowed him down to the root. 

It grew into a bit of a fixation from there. For Eddie because apparently he was into the idea of some tame, low-stakes exhibitionism— _Exhibitionism! From home!_ Richie joked. _Perfect for our time of social distancing!_ —and for Richie because he was into anything Eddie was into, with a proportional level of enthusiasm. And Eddie was really, really into this. For the next couple Wednesdays, between the hours of eleven and one, while Eddie was stuck on the all-staff meeting, Richie played a little game of pushing things a bit further each time. He would find Eddie, either at the kitchen table or at the standing desk in his home office, and kiss his neck or press his hand into his lap or tweak a nipple through his shirt—and then leave, continuing on to make himself a sandwich in the kitchen, whistling to himself in order to project nonchalance, and ignoring the half-chub in his pants. And then, later in the afternoon, when Eddie was off the call, he would find Richie and enthusiastically fuck him. 

They had a good thing going, and something about the predictable schedule was nice, too. Richie started getting horny at 11am every Wednesday like clockwork. He could tell the time using his dick. One day, Richie overheard Eddie on the phone, telling a client that he was busy Wednesday at two and could they meet on Thursday morning instead? So, it had truly become a part of their routine: teasing during the meeting and fucking afterward. 

Richie didn’t see much reason for this to change, until Eddie, one such Wednesday afternoon, while he was fingering Richie into oblivion against the kitchen counter, said, “I wanna do it next week.” 

“Do what?” Richie asked, wincing a little from how his hips were bruising against the granite edge. 

“I want you to fuck me during the meeting.”

This idea had obviously not lost its appeal in the intervening weeks. If anything, the fantasy had grown more powerful to Eddie, judging from the way, after he undid his pants and pushed inside, he was coming after only a handful of rough thrusts. 

That fateful Wednesday, Richie _wakes up_ horny. Apparently, his internal dick-clock has been thrown out of whack by the anticipation. Eddie’s already up and out of bed and at his office in the adjacent room. Richie can hear the radio playing in there—news, not music—and the light, intermittent tapping of his fingers on the keys. 

Richie gets up and takes himself and his erection to the shower where he jerks off using a small pump of Eddie’s ridiculously expensive hair conditioner, the rosemary-mint smell of which has a near-aphrodisiac effect on Richie now, due to the number of times he’s used it for this exact purpose. 

Then he has about two hours to kill. He has a meeting with a guy on the Late Show’s writing staff later—much later, at four—and that’s pretty much his entire day, unless he decides to actually buckle down and write. Barf. 

So, Richie makes himself coffee and breakfast and scrolls twitter and the two hours fly by. 

At eleven, he sneaks back down the hallway and lingers in the open door to the office. Eddie’s standing at his desk—it raises and lowers using a crank, shoutout to IKEA, but he has it raised today. He’s wearing slacks and a light blue button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s chuckling lightly in response to whatever his coworkers are saying, his screen filled with Brady Bunch boxes, a veritable who’s-who of Southern California Cooperative Energy, the not-for-profit where Eddie started working in what might be a desperate bid to even out his karma after spending nearly two decades in insurance. 

(And because he actually likes it, yes, of course, Richie knows that.) 

The thing about Eddie is, for all his fiery antagonism and pushiness that he directs at Richie, at their friends, and at the occasional unfortunate driver caught misusing the carpool lane, he’s actually a perfectly pleasant coworker. He’s polite, not particularly personable, and sometimes he leans into passive-aggression when someone annoys him, but on the whole, he is completely inoffensive. 

Richie finds this endlessly charming, so he smiles to himself while Eddie makes small-talk with his coworkers, waiting for the few stragglers to join the meeting. Once they have a full house, Eddie mutes his mic, leaving his camera on for now. The boss of their relatively small operation, Geoff, starts with some appreciation for the team, thanks them for ‘rolling with the punches,’ and once again encourages them to reach out if they need anything to more effectively do their jobs from home. 

“I think it was nice last time when we shared something personal as well as the work check-in, so let’s do that again, okay?” Geoff says. “Sara is out today, so… Eddie, wanna get us started?” 

Richie smiles a little wider, still leaning in the doorway. He knows Eddie knows he’s there—he threw a glance over his shoulder during Geoff’s introductory monologue—but Richie’s standing out of the frame of the web cam so he stays put to watch. 

“Sure, thanks,” Eddie says. “Well, something personal first, um… Went to the grocery store yesterday, that was exciting.”

His coworkers humor him with a laugh. Richie might as well quit his job if that’s all it takes. 

“And, uh, Richie,” Eddie says, his voice a little odd since he obviously knows Richie’s listening but doesn’t glance back at him. “Richie’s going to Skype into the Late Show next week on… Tuesday?” he guesses.

“Thursday,” Richie mutters under his breath.

“Thursday,” Eddie corrects.

Someone on the call, a woman, says, “Oh, that’s great, I’ll definitely watch it.” 

“And for work…” Eddie sighs, switching tabs to bring up a bulleted list. “Uh, I’m working with Sage on the Sandpiper contract, I’ll get the final budget numbers to John by… when, tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” someone, probably John, confirms. “Thanks.”

“And the rest of my week is, uh…” Eddie pauses, blowing out a breath between his lips. “The EPA Grant. Yep. That’s all I got.” 

“Thanks, Eddie,” Geoff says. “Sage?”

Just like that, Eddie’s obligations are over. He mutes his mic and turns off his camera. His own box on the screen goes gray with just his name showing now. 

Richie wastes no time in crossing the room to press up behind Eddie, his hips against his ass, arms wrapped around his waist. Eddie hums and leans back against him, dropping his head to Richie’s shoulder and baring his neck. 

“I love watching you act like a human being,” Richie says, nuzzling at the skin below his ear. “Really does it for me.” 

Eddie snorts. “As opposed to?” 

“I dunno, as opposed to the weird little gremlin that I know you actually are.” 

“Sorry to rush things, but–” Eddie grinds back against him, where Richie is already hard again. “This gremlin is about to, uh… turn into a pumpkin?”

Richie chokes on a laugh. “What?”

“I don’t know, mixed metaphor, just fuck me,” Eddie says. 

“Okay, okay.” Richie grabs Eddie’s hips to coax him up onto his toes, pressing him into the edge of his stand-up desk. “Are you ready for this all- _staff_ meeting?”

Eddie sighs in resignation. “Four out of ten.” 

“Not my worst. I’ll take it.”

A couple of Eddie’s coworkers’ faces are still in the boxes on the screen and Sage is currently rambling about their solar project at the Sandpiper retirement complex in Palo Alto, which does really make it feel like they’re not alone as Richie undoes Eddie’s pants. It doesn’t feel like they’re being watched; it just feels like they’re in the next room over, hidden from view, but they have to be a little quiet and a little quick. 

Eddie’s pants drop around his ankles and Richie presses his hand to Eddie’s hard-on through his underwear. 

“I’ve been hard since before the meeting even started,” Eddie confesses through gritted teeth. He rocks into Richie’s hand, but he doesn’t have much leverage, trapped between the stand-up desk that comes up to his waist and Richie’s hips, pinning him there. 

“I’m impressed,” Richie says, squeezing him to draw out another little whimper and jerk of his hips forward. “You seemed very composed.” 

“Well, it’s not like I become a mindless drone just because my dick is hard,” Eddie bites out, sort of hilariously defensive about it. 

“You don’t? Coulda fooled me.” 

Richie hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Eddie’s boxer-briefs and rolls them down his thighs, just under his ass. When he smooths his hands down over Eddie’s butt, his finger bumps into something smooth and hard. Glancing down, Richie spots the flared end of their black silicone butt plug. That feels like a huge electric shock right to the horniest part of Richie’s brain.

“When did you do this?” Richie demands, giving it a gentle tug to feel how Eddie’s body resists. 

“Just before the meeting,” Eddie explains, pushing back into Richie’s hand. “I didn’t want to mess around with prep too much.” 

“You’re so slutty,” Richie says, and pulls on the plug again before pressing it back in all the way. Eddie’s breath hitches in response. “Making smalltalk with your coworkers while your ass is full, waiting for me to fuck you.”

Eddie’s hands flex on the edge of the desk, where he’s apparently holding on for dear life. “Fuck, Richie, I need–”

“Don’t worry, baby.” Richie drops to his knees behind Eddie to pull out the plug in one slow firm motion, and discards it on the floor by Eddie’s feet, before he immediately replaces it with two fingers, sliding up to the knuckle easily. 

Eddie stomps his foot a little in some kind of horny frustration or impatience which is… adorable. A different coworker is talking now, but Richie can’t really make out what he’s saying, the voice tinny over the laptop speakers. Richie further drowns out the noise when he brings his mouth up to where his fingers disappear into the hot clench of Eddie’s body to lick and suck there. It tastes a little like lube but mostly like Eddie’s skin. 

“Richie,” Eddie pants, kicking back weakly at Richie’s knee with one foot. “Please. I’m gonna… fucking…” 

“Okay.” Richie gives the swell of Eddie’s ass a parting kiss, pulls his fingers out and hops to his feet. He grabs the lube out of his pocket and then drops his own pants. “I jerked off this morning, so I could have kept going until this meeting ends, you know,” he tells Eddie, as he slicks himself down. Over Eddie’s shoulder, he catches sight of the few coworkers who haven’t yet turned their cameras off. “This is maybe a little weird, seeing them. For me.” 

“Yeah…” Eddie tilts the laptop screen halfway down. “Better?” 

“Better,” Richie confirms and steps in closer, kicking Eddie’s feet further apart. With one arm looped around his waist, he presses slowly in. He and Eddie sigh in unison, Eddie pushing up higher on his toes. “Fuck yeah,” Richie breathes, once he’s fully seated, Eddie hot and tight around him. It always feels so good that he forgets to move for a second, but Eddie starts squirming back against him, impatient as ever. 

“I _didn’t_ jerk off this morning, Rich,” he mutters, tone murderous. “Friendly reminder.” 

“Maybe you should have,” Richie says, and starts moving. 

The pace is slow at first, Richie rocking up into him, Eddie moving his hips opposite, starting to pant from effort. His hand is on his own cock under the desk, moving in long firm strokes. His other hand grips the edge of the desk, his forearm bared and flexed. Richie puts his hand over Eddie’s, holding it in place and entwining their fingers. 

“You like this, huh?” Richie says, biting at the back of his neck. “What is it for you? That you could get caught? No, not that. That you’re not doing what you’re supposed to be doing, right? Is that it?”

Eddie’s nod is slight but perceptible, bumping back against Richie’s shoulder.

“Thought so,” Richie says, breathing in huffs while he fights to keep his pace punishingly steady. “You’re so mild-mannered around your coworkers, I bet they have no idea you’re getting fucked right now, huh?” 

Eddie whines a little in the back of his throat. He’s not moving back against Richie as much anymore, staying pinned against the desk and just taking it. 

“Who could imagine it, right?” Richie continues, his mouth pretty much operating independently of his brain at this point. “Buttoned-up, polite Eddie, stretching out his ass in the bathroom before a meeting, turning off his camera so his boyfriend can fuck him at his desk.”

“God, fuck, Richie,” Eddie moans. Eddie doesn’t tend to be particularly vocal during sex—Richie gleans most of his reactions from his facial expressions and body language—but Richie can get him to drop the inhibitions a little if he really runs his mouth. It’s not a hardship, as far as he’s concerned. 

Richie wonders for a wild moment that, if the mic did unmute, by some technical glitch or act of vengeance from the Zoom gods, everyone would be able to hear both of their heavy breathing and the slap of sweaty skin and Eddie’s _moans_ , the sounds that only Richie draws out of him, and that thought sets Richie on fire. For him, maybe it is the idea of getting caught that’s so thrilling, the thought that someone _might_ suspect they’re doing exactly this behind the privacy of the screen. 

“I’m close,” Richie blurts, because it sneaks up on him all at once, a spike of heat in his gut. “Eddie, are you…?” 

Then, through the fog, Richie hears through the laptop speaker: “Eddie? Eddie have you…?”

They both simultaneously go still, holding their breath. 

After a second, the same voice—Geoff, Richie realizes—says again, “Eddie? Are you there?” 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, scrambling for his laptop. He tilts the screen up and Richie blurts, “Don’t turn the camera–” 

“I’m not gonna turn the camera on, for fuck’s sake,” Eddie mutters, then unmutes his mic. “Hi, sorry, forgot to unmute,” he lies, surprisingly smooth, if a little breathless. 

Speaking of breathless, Richie finally lets out his own, slowly and muffled into the sweaty fabric of Eddie’s shirt. He breathes deeply, but maybe deeply enough to come close to moving—he’s still rock hard deep inside of Eddie, after all—because Eddie reaches behind him to swat at Richie’s hip. 

“I, uh,” Eddie stammers, stalling for a second. “Yeah. I think that sounds good.” 

Richie can’t help but laugh a little, hiding his face between Eddie’s shoulderblades. This is absurd. Eddie always said he was never called on in these meetings, not after his time was up. What are the chances? 

Eddie does not seem to find it as amusing, digging his fingernails into the meat of Richie’s thigh. 

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie continues, and Richie honestly has no idea whether he’s bullshitting entirely or if he heard enough of the previous conversation to come up with an answer. Either way, he seems more confident as time goes on. “I’ll take a look at that and let you know what I think.” 

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” Geoff says, and he seems… satisfied enough. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Eddie says, his voice a little strained, and then, decisively, he hits the mute button again. 

He immediately lets out a long, relieved rush of air, shoulders dropping. Richie starts cracking up in earnest, shaking helplessly with laughter against Eddie’s back and still, absurdly, with his dick in his ass. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Richie manages, still laughing. “Did you even know what you were saying?” 

“A little!” Eddie insists, and he laughs, too. “They were saying something about an app—these meetings always go in circles, Geoff couldn’t follow an agenda to save his life, and Sara’s not here to keep us on task—and I think John was asking if any of us had used anything similar and, yeah.” 

“You were actually listening?” Richie asks. This is possibly the funniest thing to happen yet. 

“I was sort of listening!” Eddie says, his voice high-pitched. “Kind of hard not to, with it blasting right in my ear.” 

“What app was it?” Richie asks, lifting up his glasses to wipe the tears of laughter from under his eyes. 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Eddie says. “I wasn’t listening _that_ closely.” 

“Oh, man.” Richie sighs, finally calming down. He slides his hands over Eddie’s naked hips and thighs. “That was exciting.” 

Eddie wriggles back again Richie’s pelvis, pushing up on his toes again and leaning forward against the desk. “Yeah, nothing like a shot of adrenaline to bring this thing home.” 

And bring it home they do, Eddie planting both elbows on the desk, and Richie jerking him off until he comes with a groan into Richie’s hand and onto the underside of the Skarsta convertible sit/stand desk (courtesy, IKEA). In his aftershocks, Eddie clenches around Richie, helping to bring him to his own shuddering orgasm, seconds later, biting at Eddie’s clothed shoulder, his work shirt now laundry-bound and basically ruined with sweat and spit. 

“Oof,” Eddie sighs, a little shaky on his feet, after Richie pulls out. “That was… Yeah, that was really good.”

Richie bends to pick up the discarded plug and presses its blunt rubbery tip between Eddie’s cheeks, where he’s slick with lube and come. 

“For until your meeting is over?” Richie suggests, pushing in with the slightest pressure. 

Eddie drags him in for a filthy kiss, giving an affirmative answer in the form of a muffled, “ _Mmf_ ,” into Richie’s mouth. 

“Maybe we can go back to what we were doing before,” Richie suggests later, when Eddie is finally free from Zoom and cleaned up, and they’re eating BLTs for lunch at their kitchen island. “That was kind of a close call, I guess.”

“Maybe,” Eddie cedes. “Or maybe… I dunno. Maybe you could… blow me while I’m on a call sometime?” 

Richie blinks dumbly, a smile growing on his face. “Uh, sure. Yeah, I’ll… pencil that in.”


End file.
